


Show me the stars

by frostbite



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1d, Drug Use, Implied Drug Abuse, M/M, Niall Horan - Freeform, Punk Louis, disorder, harry x louis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostbite/pseuds/frostbite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's a good kid, until he gets mixed up with Louis Tomlinson, and everything spirals down from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show me the stars

When Harry turned 17 he lost his virginity to a boy who was two years older and had blue eyes and tattoos littered across his pale skin and always carried a bag of white powder with him. 

They met at a party, one in which Harry never even wanted to attend to, but his best friend Niall begged him, so he couldn't say no. Plus it was a Friday night and he didn't feel like staying inside his house, alone, again. 

So he went, and he drank, and before he knew it he was pinned against a wall with a shorter guy pressed against him, hands romanced each others bodies, and their tongues meshed together as one. They murmured things back and forth, swallowing each others moans and mouths frequently dipping down attaching to the other boy's neck, sucking dark love bites into them. The other's arms running up under their shirt. "Come upstairs with me," the tattooed boy whispered into his ear, both ignoring the stares they were getting from the other people at the party. 

Harry bit into his lip, eyes wide as he nodded feeling the older boy's fingers lace between his as they went up the stairs taking two at a time. "W-Which one?" Harry asked, his erection straining beneath his tight jeans. The tattooed boy just turned around so they were facing, his hands cupping the sides of Harry's face, fingers running through the curls that hung down. "All of them," and that's when Harry slipped. 

And two months later, Harry found himself sitting on Louis' couch in the corner of his living room, take away boxes and pizza boxers littering the tables and beer cans piled high on the kitchen counters. Louis poured Harry another shot, filling the miniature sized glass to the brim with the clear liquid that would sure burn his throat when it went down, settling warm in his stomach. And because nothing in life was truly forgotten, for the longest time Harry would see the distorted image of his boyfriend through the bottom of his shot glasses as he tipped his head back and took the alcohol down in a single gulp, finishing off by wiping his sleeve across his mouth falling back against the couch as the older boy crawled over onto his lap and began kissing him hard and passionately. That's when Harry fell, and he fell hard.

Harry was almost finished with his first blunt, in the process of rolling a second when it struck him that he actually hated being high. He didn't know why he ever let Louis give him one, but in a way he was glad he did. He placed the joint between his slightly wet lips, low eyes watching down as his thumb flicked the lighter and the fire flashed and he brought it to the end of the joint, sucking in as he lit the end, feeling the smoke curling around in his lungs. 

He hadn't quite figured out what drew him to Louis, he figures it was the reason he was a loser in High School and Louis treated him like one of the greatest things he'd ever witnessed in his life.   
It was a good feeling.  
Almost as good as the feeling of the drugs coarsing through his veins making him forget everything wrong he'd ever done. 

But when Harry's parents found out Harry was doing drugs, he swore he was done, done smoking, done drinking, done popping pills, done with everything. He made a pact to himself, he could do it-- he _had_ too. 

And it went good for a while until his family had a get together and his cousin found an old joint in Harry's room, bringing it down to the kitchen holding it tight in her hand and announced loudly what he had found in Harry's room. Harry's face flushed as his entire family stared at him and the silence screamed, piercing his ears and making his heart beat against his chest, the only thing leaving his mouth; "I didn't-" "I'm not-" "It was-" "I just-" 

And the look on Harry's mum's face broke his heart, and the tone she used when she pointed to the door yelling at him to get out made him stiff, and the way the door slammed behind him made him cry. His mind was racing, overwhelming thoughts ripping through him as the tears streamed down his cheeks, and he felt alone, and unloved. 

And that's when he found himself back on Louis Tomlinson's porch. 

He remembers the smell of cologne that poured out of his door as he cracked it open, peeking his head out, that smug look on his face as he pulled it open wide and pretended to care, wrapping his arms around the younger boy and kissing his forehead. 

"I know what will make you feel all better." 

And that was the end of Harry Styles, _simple as that._

He knew he should've said no when he saw Louis getting a needle from his box, he should've got up when he watched him pull the syringe up dragging a brown liquid up with it. He should've left when Louis crawled on his knees towards the younger boy, tightening a black, leather belt around his upper arm so tight it cut off his circulation. And he should've done something when Louis flicked the needle before lining it up along his skin, pushing it into his vein and injecting the poison into his body. 

But he didn't. 

And regret mixed with love, and hatred blurred with cravings, and as they say, when you fall in love you tend to lose yourself along the way. And that's just what Harry did, he lost himself-- every single bit of himself, and there was no way back now. He was far too attached to Louis, he loved Louis, he needed Louis. 

Getting sober wasn't an option, he thought. He was hooked on this lifestyle and he could't get out, not that he wanted too. But it became a problem with he couldn't stand the thought of being sober let alone actually being sober. His family hadn't bothered with him since they saw him sitting at the bus stop, bruises covering the crooks of his arms and his mother turned away in horror, and his sister bolted past him in the car, not taking another look back. And when Harry returned home with red glossy eyes he was greeted with one of the two usual greetings. Louis was sitting on the sofa, a belt laying beside him on the floor, staring off into space. 

Or two, Louis would be passed out somewhere in the house, Harry had only hoped it hadn't been the shower like last time. He walked through the house and searched for his boyfriend who was-- just as he thought-- laying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, and the needle uncapped laying beside him. Harry kicked the needle away and grabbed him from underneath the arms dragging his lifeless body towards their room when he stopped and took a look in the mirror at himself, and for once in his life, he recognized the guy staring back-- barely. 

His eyes were low, and the bags under his eyes were dark, his skin was pale and his curls were messed up. That's when he knew he had to stop, and knew he needed to get help. But as he stared down at the intoxicated boy that breathed fast and twitched every so often, he knew it wouldn't be easy. 

Harry would always find himself saying "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you" but deep down inside, he knew he never would. And the worst part of it all was-- he loved Louis, he was in love with Louis. But the gut retching part of it all was that he knew good things never lasted, and the tuxedo he'd imagined Louis standing at the end of the aisle in would never be real-- because the harsh reality of it all was that the only tuxedo he'd ever see Louis in would be the one he'd be buried in. 

By the time the relationship was over, for Harry at least, he was both emotionally and physically exhausted. He could barely stand Louis between the times they'd have sex on the couch and get high right after, saying meaningless I love you's, and false promises of forever. 

And that's when Harry left, and he walked to his home with his head high and the sky seemed to clear up, and the air he breathed in wasn't so tense, and his body still craved but he could mask them, and he felt stronger with each step he took away from the boy who he loved, and the boy who broke him, the one who showed him so many things, and let him know it was okay to do regretful things when it wasn't. 

It felt good to walk past the park where they had their first date-- Harry hadn't even cringed at the memories of them on the slide in the late hours of the night, tieing off their arms and shooting up, falling back and watching the sky as all the stars seemed to melt together, and their fingers laced, and that was the first time Louis told Harry he loved him, and that's the first time Harry said it back, and he meant it, every word, and every syllable. 

And Harry smiled as he walked through his house for the sixth time, and was greeted with open arms from his mum who had a loving smile and her eyes were bright. And his sister even hugged him and told him how much she loved him and missed him when he was gone. 

He didn't even wave the last time he saw Louis in public, pacing back and forth as he stared down at the ground at his scuffed up converse, probably waiting for his dealer who would take hours to finally show up, and he'd be so strung out he'd practically start to cry because his body hurt and he felt so shitty. But Harry missed him-- and felt bad for him, bad enough he just wanted to run over and hug him tight, and kiss him, and tell him everything was fine, and hope he wouldn't slip back into his old lifestyle of misery and addiction.

_And that's when Harry realized that he no longer needed Louis to fuck him as hard as he once hated himself._


End file.
